


the muscle memory it must take to stay close to me

by Fxckxxp



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Angst, Blow Jobs, Disability, Disabled Character, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Characters, Married Sex, POV Martino Rametta, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 15:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18705517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fxckxxp/pseuds/Fxckxxp
Summary: In a different universe that’s been far less kind, Marti and Nico have sex for the first time in a long time after Nico’s accident.





	the muscle memory it must take to stay close to me

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank Bee the angst queen for this au idea that made me so emotional I just couldn’t stop thinking about it so I wrote it. Thought for a long time about not posting it or maybe posting under another name, but nah — no shame. Please read the tags. 💛

It’s been six months since the accident.

That have somehow felt simultaneously like ten lifetimes and the blink of an eye. Their wedding two years ago seems like a memory that no longer belongs to Marti. 

The hospital. Physical therapy. Regular therapy. Moving to an apartment with an elevator big enough for Nico’s wheelchair.

He doesn’t need it all the time, but he needs it about ninety percent of the time. The doctors say there’s a possibility he will regain about half of the motor skills he’s lost, but it’ll never be back to normal. 

Everything still _works,_ the hard part is that most of the time it just hurts. Less, now. But still. 

That’s the hard part for Marti — not helping Nico, no — but knowing he’s in pain. Knowing that he tries to hide it from Marti to ease some of the burden.

The timeline is blurring together, each element a primary paint smudged across a canvas so sloppy it all looks brown. Whatever abstract art it tried to be can only call itself a mess at best.

But such is life. Marti would still not trade Nico for the world. 

He’ll finally lay his head on Marti’s shoulder now. Will wrap an arm around his middle while they sleep. Won’t recoil from his touches like Marti is a hot iron.

Marti wishes he could tell him everything is still the same.

No, that’s stupid. Obviously everything is different. That’s why Marti says nothing, because he can’t even begin to understand why life is always dealing Nico bad cards. It’s not fair. It makes his throat swell, his sinuses tense and tingle, his eyes sting: angry tears. Angry tears because it’s so unfair. He’s shed a lot of them these past six months. 

Marti wishes he could _show_ Nico everything is still the same. At least when it comes down to the way Marti feels about him.

Right now is the closest they’ve been in months. In bed, the tiny tv on their dresser by Marti’s side of the mattress is playing reruns. Nico has his nose tucked into Marti’s neck, an arm bent over his chest. Curls tickling the soft underside of his chin. He laughs every once in a while, not at the stupid jokes, but reactionary: at Marti laughing at the stupid jokes.

But Marti is having trouble paying attention now, as Nico relaxes against him.

He smells so good. Each breath out of his nose feels like a little fire on the thin skin of Marti’s throat. 

Marti’s afraid to move because he doesn’t want Nico to hesitate; tremble; turn away.

But he wants to _love_ him. It’s been so long. And Marti can fumble his words sometimes, say the wrong thing, say the thing he means so vaguely that he contradicts himself. 

He can say he loves Nico all he wants but sometimes it is not enough. 

Right now, it is not enough. 

Marti, timidly, tips his chin down and presses a soft kiss to the top of Nico’s head. And he feels him freeze just a bit, but it’s quick: a second. Relax again. Things are okay. Nico stays put.

“Hey,” Marti whispers.

Nico bends his neck back, looks up at him. He’s tired — his eyes are glazey and low. But there’s a little mirthy glitter in them, too. It’s returned only recently.

Marti bumps his nose against Nico’s, drags the tip of it up in a squish. A quick check.

To which Nico huffs — a sharp exhale out his nostrils that bounces his chest in replace of a laugh. He blinks once, eyes a bit more awake on the second open.

Nervously, Marti swallows, feels the tight gurgle in his ears on the way down. He leans in to kiss Nico for real.

It’s met with a little bit of a melt. And that breaks his heart. How careful it all is, how he wishes Nico would just let himself have Marti.

(Maybe Nico is just protecting himself, and Marti can’t blame him for that. But he’s not going anywhere, and the fact Nico doesn’t know that makes him feel guilty, however foolish that may be.)

Again, Marti’s afraid to shift. The whole thing thin as a soap bubble. One wrong breath and it pops. But he wants two things: one, he wants Nico to feel love — to know it and accept it and feel safe inside of it; and two, Marti wants to feel love too — he misses Nico. Misses him when he’s right here. The baby steps back to closeness are dragging. Need a push. 

He tilts his head into it, twisting their lips a bit, a motion shaped like a question to deepen it. Opens his mouth, another question. It’s answered with Nico’s lips parting like this is second nature. 

It used to be.

And then a long, frustrated exhale out of Nico’s nose and the loss of contact. He pulls away.

“You don’t want to kiss me?” Marti phrases it like a doubt, but the tone leaves it up in the air whether or not it is. He raises his eyebrows, not frustrated. Just curious.

But Nico is frustrated. It hurts Marti to know it’s at himself. 

“I do, that’s the problem.”

Marti purses his lips and looks up, lowering one of his eyebrows and folding his hands in his lap. His insides sting. His outsides stay playful. For Nico. “Hmmm,” he buzzes, tilting his head. “I don’t really see that as a problem.”

“The problem is I don’t know what kind of kiss you want,” Nico says too quickly to not have thought the words before. So quickly there’s a silence after them that gives that exact thought away. “Or,” he clears his throat, “what kind of kiss I can give you right now.”

Marti scrunches his nose. “I don’t know what that means.” And he shoots Nico a look that conveys it doesn’t matter.

And, luckily, that makes Nico laugh. “I don’t either.”

Who cares. Marti’s feet are scabbed from walking on sharp eggshells. “Why don’t we just kiss, then, hm? And maybe we can find out.”

Nico closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Marti watches him nod slowly, lean in.

And it’s soft like always. Tilted heads, easy open mouths. Dragged lips. Hands find ways to faces, fingers find way to hair. Motions repeat, Marti feels warmth in his blood again. Sunshine in his skin at the pads of Nico’s thumbs on his freckles. He knows he’s smiling, it happens involuntarily every time.

Marti forgets how strong Nico is. He’s lost some of it, for sure. But it still takes him by surprise when Nico’s hands drag down his chest, around his ribs, and pulls. Pulls Marti right on top of him so fast Marti’s head spins. And he laughs into their messy kiss on top of Nico because if he doesn’t, he might cry. 

He’s missed this — missed _him_ — so much.

And it’s just so predictable that Nico is all business. Nothing has changed, although Marti can’t say that — although it’s not true outwardly. But he feels it. Inside. Inside nothing has changed about him, about Nico, about them. When they kiss like this it’s all so clear. 

He’s practically forgotten how good Nico kisses him, how wonderful his hair feels between his fingers, how strong his jaw is under his palm. Marti wants to give him everything, all of the tenderness if he’d just allow it. Love him if that’s okay. 

Marti meets their tongues; the sound Nico makes sends sparks down to his toes.

But he pulls away. “You don’t have to —”

“I know I don’t.”

“I don’t want a pity —”

“This is the opposite of that.”

Nico scoffs. But then his tired eyes get a little wider, almost innocent. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” 

“In…” Nico trails, looking away from Marti: clearly embarrassed. “In me. In this.”

Marti knows what he means, although that hadn’t even crossed his mind. It’s a selfish take to be disappointed, and Marti feels the opposite of selfish right now. He wants to give. 

“You don’t have to worry about that.” He smiles, bumps their noses together. “All we can do is try. And if you don’t want to, that’s fine too.”

“I do,” Nico almost squeaks. And it’s so quiet Marti doesn’t want to think about how long this thought might have been eating him up. How badly he wants the touch he recoils away from, how fiercely he needs the love he’s afraid to become accustomed to in this new life. Just in case it all goes away. 

Marti knows it never will. But he understands the fear. 

“You don’t have to worry about anything, please.” Marti leans back in to kiss him again, saying the next part over it: “it’s all okay, no matter what happens.”

He feels Nico accept it, second by second. Kiss him back, grab at his sides, push him down so their chests are flush. Try to turn a bit to maybe relieve some of the weight on top of him. Marti helps. They end up on their sides. 

And they kiss like that for a long time, maybe rivaling the makeout sessions they had when they were teenagers. But unlike then it’s not so hungry, not so hot, not so clumsy. Their lips know each other well by now. It’s a comfort. A conversation. Something akin to home. Getting to know each other all over again with no words at all. 

But eventually it gets there. When Nico breaks away to kiss Marti’s neck. Pulling him close by the small of his back because he has a hard time moving. 

It’s like coming up for air; Marti takes deep breaths with closed eyes. His skin is tingly and hot. He’s a little worried this is too much for what’s supposed to be a toe in the water, resisting just a bit when Nico keeps pulling at him because he’s scared to give too much away. He’d take it all the way, personally, but won’t try to guess what Nico needs. This is all more or less the same for him, minus a few minor obstacles. But for Nico there’s both a physical and mental barricade that Marti can’t even imagine. 

Nico is bold with it, though. Continuing to kiss Marti’s neck, he drags a hand down his shoulder, between their pressed chests, between their flushed stomachs, between Marti’s legs — 

It’s been six months since Nico’s touched him. Marti swallows an embarrassed sound but doesn’t stop him.

Nico feels him outside of his shorts — already hard as hell — his lips losing focus somewhere on the front of Marti’s throat. Chuckling at his reaction. _Chuckling._

Pluck them out of any universe and they’re still the same. Marti can’t help but laugh back, some of the blood returning to his head — and he uses a free hand to turn Nico’s chin and kiss him again for real, smiling into that too. Parted lips, happy hums when their tongues find each other softly. 

Nico slips his hand inside the waistband, touches Marti.

It renders him practically useless. He still has thinking room, though. At least enough to nod: _this is okay._ More than okay. But not so much that, if you were to recount the details of tonight to an earlier Marti, he might cry tears of joy. Because Nico has felt so far away for so long and now he’s right here. 

And yes, he’s glad Nico is taking the lead. Glad that this might give him some power back — to know that Marti is still attracted to him, still wants him, still loves him. 

These are all obvious things to Marti, but of course he wants Nico to believe them too. And if that means _this,_ well, it’s not such a bad process. 

But Marti doesn’t want any of this to be a distraction. His mission is to reciprocate — but Nico, like always, took him on a little detour. The thinking room he has left shrinks every time Nico strokes his hand up, down. Kisses him in time with it. But not enough to not urge Marti to reach. 

Everything freezes for just a split second when Marti’s fingers ask their way under Nico’s shirt to feel his skin, ask their way in his underwear to feel _him_ — comfortable enough at least to be turned on, and Marti feels something well up inside of him; Nico trusts him. Of course he does, but it’s different now. 

The stiffness breaks with a tremble. 

Nico inhales, pulls back, keeps his eyes closed. 

“Okay?” Marti asks. “I can help. If you want these off.”

“Okay,” Nico agrees, his soft smile quick to come back. It’s a little tired, a little sad. But it’s still a smile. 

There are no fragile moves anymore, Marti realizes. Nico just needs an extra second to let himself be loved for the first time in awhile, for the first time in a new way that’s crawled inside his brain and nested there, whispering doubts. He understands — maybe not to the fullest degree, but Marti is patient.

Nico lets go of him, uses both arms and the strength in his upper body to prop up a bit. Marti slips his knuckles in the waistband of his boxers, pulls them down with his thumbs and takes them all the way off, giving Nico’s feet a quick and cute squeeze when they exit the openings. And he reaches across Nico’s middle, a flat hand between his shoulder blades. Turns him back on his side, drags that hand down his spine and pulls him close.

And they’re back again just like that. Like nothing. It’s so easy Marti just has to laugh a little. 

“Still good?” He asks, kissing Nico before he can respond, reaching down to touch him so that any formed word just melts into a pleased hum, grows to a breathy whimper. 

The best part is that Nico revels in it for a whole minute — lets Marti stroke him and kiss him, doesn’t hold back a sound, a smile, a look. _Really_ lets himself have love for a moment before reaching back for Marti. Hand on his stomach, pulling at his shorts so Marti takes them off. 

So they can touch each other. 

This is enough. Their kiss can barely be classified as one now — it’s more just open mouths breathing heavy, smiling over one another, leaning in when one strays too far. Marti has to concentrate extra hard on making sure he’s touching Nico right, who can’t move his hips to help himself. 

And it’s definitely a challenge, what with the way Nico seems so determined — nothing about it playful or teasing. His hand is a bit lazy but it’s consistent. He remembers all the tricks Marti likes. 

They still go slow. It’s not some race to the finish line. But it’s all just right and all just enough. So much so that Marti comes hard out of nowhere. Barely a pulse of warning. One second everything felt so perfect and the next that perfection personified. Eyes heavy in the back, toes curling so abrupt they cramp, a proper moan and a mess everywhere in Nico’s hand he couldn’t even warn him about. 

When Nico feels it he kisses Marti harder, down his jaw and his neck so Marti can breathe. Laughs into his skin at the way Marti’s body gravitates into him, feeling powerful.

Marti hasn’t fully recovered before getting up, rolling Nico to his back, pushing at his knees to get between them — head ringing and ears burning and sight blurry. Top half light, bottom half still tender. Everything catches up a second later. 

“Can I?” Marti kisses Nico’s stomach, whose fingers are already buried in his hair, thumb on his cheek. Marti hears him swallow dryly, loudly, nervous. 

He hesitates. 

“It’s okay,” Marti reassures him. Another kiss just a little lower. His mouth starts to water — he’s daydreamed about doing this a million times, the last few weeks especially. To feel Nico feel good. 

He nods, and Marti wastes no time with another kiss, another. Lower. Nose brushing against hair, breathing in. Until his mouth is around Nico. Lips sliding down, up, down again, the beginning of the pattern making Nico’s stomach rise and fall against Marti’s forehead in heavy breaths, making his grip in Marti’s curls tighter. 

“Marti.”

It could very well be a warning. But it doesn’t sound like one, or for that matter a question. The sound comes low from Nico’s chest, in the cavity right by his heart. It’s barely above a whisper to Marti, and surely much softer.

Marti doesn’t expect him to last very long, but maybe the nerves push Nico through a bit more than he expected. Marti uses a free hand to grip his hip, drag down his leg, hold his knee — a thumb trailing soft circles on the cap of it. Trying to permeate this thought: _Relax. Relax. Relax. I’ve got you and it’s okay, see how easy this is? I love you no less._

Nico pats Marti on the side of the head, tugging the hair behind his ear gently to get him to move away. Here is the warning, as if his breathing wasn’t an indicator enough already — broken breaths and uneven exhales. Marti in full control over each one. 

He shakes his head in the middle of it: _no, it’s fine. I want to._ And he does — Nico comes in his mouth, a lot. Which is to be expected. And that stirs something up in Marti again, to know that he did this and that Nico’s opened up again and that they _have_ this again. This way to tell each other they love each other without the words Marti has so desperately struggled to find lately. Afraid to say the wrong thing, the thing he doesn’t mean. 

So he’s thankful to show it. Because it’s more than just the physicality to Marti. There’s levels to this whole new navigation, to how to be with Nico now. And the differences are minute to Marti compared to everything else: compared to how to love him. That will always be the same. 

He starts pulling Marti up by the armpits, hands leaving his hair. It makes Marti laugh, trying to keep his mouth closed so he can swallow everything that didn’t make it down his throat. He obliges easy enough, laying on his side and draping himself over Nico on his back. 

He pulls back as Nico leans in, mouth already parted for a kiss. 

“You don’t want to kiss me?” Nico mocks him. 

“I should brush my teeth,” Marti warns, giving in anyway to a quick peck. “But yes, I do. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can talk to me on [tumblr!](https://bisexualcaravaggio.tumblr.com)


End file.
